Wicked Games: A SoMa story
by sahdah
Summary: It's All-Star week. Up and coming choreographer Soul Evans is paired to dance with Maka Albarn in a contemporary piece of his own creation. Channeling his feelings into his work, what will happen when Maka realizes it was about her? A So You Think You Can Dance AU, rated for smut.


Merry Christmas to **Eisschirmchen** who is my Soul Eater Gift Exchange giftee!

Special thanks to **Silly-Twin-Stars** and **Professor Maka** for the eyes! I owe you both so much.

Warnings: none really, it's nsfw

Inspiration: check out YouTube: Travis and Amy Wicked Games, and the song Wicked Games James Vincent McMorrow version.

 **Wicked Games: A SoMa story**

There is a melody stuck in Soul's head, and try as he might, he can't get away from it. Doesn't know if he wants to anymore. No, he doesn't. It's what connects his soul to hers, one connection through time and space. He hasn't been the same since, not really.

…

He first saw her at the open casting call at the Death City Center of Performing Arts. Petite, dirty blond hair in pigtails, lithe body, cheerful personality, and green, green eyes. Then she danced. The silence that followed her audition solo erupted into applause as Death Records Producer Lord Death held out her ticket and she ran forward to claim her rightful place that season.

He was on the panel, so he got to witness it first hand, but when they locked eyes as her fingers closed around the proffered plane ticket, something in his apathetic heart shifted irrevocably.

This was all Black Star's doing. His best and longtime childhood friend, who refused to go by his given name of Blake, had convinced him to "try out" for that dancing competition show, Dance Resonance. It was hosted by that minx of an Amazonian woman Blair, and all the local kids suddenly had high hopes of doing something with themselves. Soul just came along to make sure Black Star didn't set the place on fire or some shit like that.

Black Star got in on sheer force of energy and stage presence, all three judges at a loss of what to do with someone so incredibly loud, but he was in. Soul, on the other hand, with his extremely brooding persona, was almost passed over, but years of contemporary dance at his mother's insistence and their father's strict regime meant that Soul got in on technical perfection. Because his brooding demeanor didn't do him any favors. One of the judges, a punk by the look of his spiked up brown hair and strange nose accessory, asked the crowd if they should just let him in on his exotic looks. To which Soul muttered, "I don't roll that way, man." It didn't matter his response was drowned out by the screams of the people present in the auditorium.

Soul ended up losing out to Black Star in the end, only because the man swore to himself every day to surpass the Gods of Dance. And, that he did. As the season progressed Soul highly suspected the tall Japanese choreographer was at the center of his roommate's ultimate desire to win out. Honestly, Soul wasn't exactly sure how he made it to the finale, but it was something Wes would crow about given an opportunity, seeing as he was now rolling in the cash after starting a fan site for his brother and selling merchandise his face was plastered over.

One season later things changed when he got a call from the producers, asking him if he would be interested in being part of what they were calling the "All-Stars" and as a choreographer, too. Against some base instinct that was screaming this was a bad idea, he agreed. Not only was he invited to choreograph, he was also asked to serve on the selection panel for Death City, the last selection stop for the show before the contest started in earnest.

That morning he had walked up to the performance arts center, passing the long line that was already queued up waiting to be let in. Many were stretching, some of the more adventurous ones were showing off. The anxiety and stress was palpable in the air. He walked with his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his faded denim jeans, a dark knit beanie covering his stark hair, and his custom cans thrumming instrumental music directly into his brain, helping him to block out the masses. That is, until he hit something rather solid.

"Hey!" There was a loud prehistoric screech, "Watch it!"

A girl was bending over to pick up- a massive textbook? He couldn't believe anyone would cart something like that out to this madness, and the chuckle that escaped him was only due to the disbelief, that is until he caught sight of the owner.

Green eyes, almost hidden by dirty golden fringe were glaring at him out from under a worn, large dark hoodie, over loose trousers and combat boots. Seriously, combat boots?

"S-sorry. I," he tried to get his head around what he was attempting to say, but the words were getting stuck due to her frosty stare. "Did you really bring your textbook to this?" He gestured to the growing crowd.

"Yeah, I did," She responded, not elaborating as she dusted off the cover and stuffed it into her bag.

He couldn't have said why he wanted to keep her talking but he didn't have time to rethink it, soon the sun would peak over the horizon and the day would start and he might not get this chance again. "So, you're studying… for fun?" he asked, noticing his palms had started to get sweaty about the time he realized she was blushing.

She shuffled from side to side, "Ah, no. I'm taking summer courses at DCCC. I have midterms coming up soon."

"Oh," he responded. So, she was local. He tried his best not to dwell on it. "Cool, well break a leg."

"Ah, yeah." She smiled, and he was struck dumb by such a bright expression. "What about you, are you dancing today?"

"Me? Not exactly no," He said, his low voice making the statement more gruff than he had intended.

"O-okay then," She said, looking up the line as a person exited the center with a bullhorn and began to make announcements. "I, I guess I'll see you, then."

He didn't get a chance to respond, because it was then that the doors opened and she was rushed inside with the rest of the excitable crowd. He had failed to even get her name.

That was until after her solo, when she smiled and it hit him like a ton of bricks. That pure sunshine expression lighting up the stage, Maka Albarn. He had coughed trying not to be a gross bag of dicks by gawking, but seeing her in the black crop top, pigtails, and black high waisted hot pants barefoot was so far removed from the grunge looking girl he'd met outside of the building that he hadn't realized it was her- that is, until she smiled.

She too experienced that moment, because it wasn't until her fingers closed around the ticket that she really realized who she had been talking to that morning. Breathing out a soft, "Oh," before shaking Lord Death's hand, Shaula Gorgon's, and his own, which felt like he had been zapped with electricity.

He had to get a grip, tamp down on the unreasonable feelings, but he knew- deep down, he was fucked.

…

The contest started in earnest and each week brought its new set of challenges; he had a large group number to put together for the season opener, a weekly assignment to any given team he was drawn for, and new to this season the top eight dancers were to be paired with an "All-Star" who would not only choreograph but would also be performing with the finalist.

The fucked up part was Wes had caught onto something that Soul was sure had been on lockdown. Right after the last week of airing the tryouts, Wes kept going on and on about #3487, and he didn't need to check twice to know who's number that belonged to. Still, eventually his brother would tire of his game, he hoped for his mental sanity.

Of course, then the impossible happened.

Soul had been drawn and paired with Maka Albarn. They were to dance to his style, contemporary. For his part, Soul was trying not to have an aneurysm. To say he had already been working on his piece, with her in mind, would be a gross revelation of feelings he did not want to own up to.

It had begun as a thought about how cruel fate could be. Due to contest rules and Blake's fat mouth, contractual obligations stated that starting any sort of romance with a contestant and choreographer would result in expulsion of the contestant and choreographer followed by a class action lawsuit for breach of contract. Blake only got around that because he married his choreographer in a shot gun Death City wedding, now they both choreograph together. Really though, Soul wasn't that stupid.

For all her bright and cheerful demeanor, Maka kept to herself, studied at every opportune moment, and never broke any of the rules. This would be the first time he'd actually be working with her on her own. Wondering if he'd be able to break through to understand her a little better.

Thinking he'd be early to his first rehearsal, he wasn't paying attention when he got to the door of his studio. There was music playing and he only stopped before he opened the door because movement caught his eye. What he saw froze him in his tracks, Maka was already there, and his mouth went dry.

One hand resting lightly on the bar as she went through her warm up series. Once he realized he was about to drool, he backed away and used the wall to steady himself, trying to collect his thoughts. How- how was he going to be able to work with her?

When he had finally collected himself, he looked at his watch and realized he was late. Pushing his way in, she watched him from where she sat reading the textbook, back in her grungy sweats. After carefully bookmarking the page, she got up. Before he could gather his wits, she interjected. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The fact that she remembered made him feel warm all over again. "Ah, I didn't get the chance," he answered truthfully. "Would it have made a difference?"

Her smile reappeared, making him swallow hard. "Yeah, you're right. I'm Maka." She offered a small hand. Which he took, the electricity still very much present.

"You know," she continued, her eyes flitting down to where his hand was enveloping hers. "You're a big part of the reason I tried out. Sorry you lost out to Blake."

He watched her carefully, with narrowed eyes. Only people who knew Black Star personally ever dared call him that. "How do you-"

"God-brother. We had martial arts together." She answered the interrupted question with a smile.

That blue haired bastard had never mentioned that, or her. "So, how did he get started in dance?"

Throwing her head back, she laughed, the sound of it doing funny things to his bones. "He was showing off at school- ended up breaking a spire. School said they'd drop the charges if he repaired the damage and joined the theater department- they needed the boost. It worked but also backfired because he got into street dancing when someone questioned his manliness. So, he made some declaration about surpassing small minded fools and becoming a God of Dance."

This was the most he'd heard her talk, and realized that he liked it. "Sounds about right. " He chortled, imagining the scenario she described

"Anyway," she said, continuing. And again, he noticed that blush he saw the first time he spoke with her. "Your solos are what really pushed me back into dancing…"

Soul could sense something else behind her expression, but being a private person himself, he understood that she wasn't going to elaborate. Not to mention that her praise had him feeling confused, and he blushed as he muttered, "ah- thanks."

It was then that she saw the hands of the clock behind him. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I've almost wasted a half hour."

Unable to help his grin, he said. "Was late, remember. But yeah- if you're warmed up we can start, whenever."

In answer, she crossed her arms at the hem of her old, worn sweat shirt, and pulled it up and over her head revealing a dark, low scoop necked leotard, and he tried not to choke because the unmarred lines of her body suggested no bra. Which, was commonplace in dance but, fuck, was his body trying to get him killed?

To hide his discomfort, he turned to shuck his own jacket revealing a tank top that exposed his arms, and a piano tattoo extending from his shoulder down to his wrist. Blake had insisted that it be in the shape of a scythe which, when questioned 'why' by Soul, he responded in his usual sing song cadence. "Cause it's a fucking scythe, broman. Who wouldn't want a piano shaped like a scythe on their arm?" In hindsight, maybe it was a little much, but he liked it, nonetheless.

"Well that's certainly much more cool looking than how Blake described it." Maka said, voice soft from where she was stretching on the floor.

"And do I come up in conversation all that much?" He asked, tone probably more gruff than he'd intended- being caught off guard, and all. Honestly, more or less, he just felt so- so cheated. Clearly, she knew about him, and he, he knew _nothing_ of her existence.

The pink dusting on her face deepened and he found it gratifying. "Anyway," he replied, walking to where she was seated, doing his best not to worry about the how or why he would come up in any conversation. "So the theme of this dance, is the game fate plays when someone new comes into your life. Unrequited love and longing. I envision numerous lifts, a lot of pushing and pulling. Two people who long to be together but are unsure, untrusting, and scared."

Her green eyes watched him very carefully behind her dirty blonde fringe, but he had to keep plowing through so that she wouldn't see through his sham. Embarrassed as he was to be so invested in this dance with her, Soul waited for her acknowledgement, and after a moment, she gave him a firm nod.

"Maka, I'm going to be getting close." He explained, crouching down so that he could look her in the eye without her looking up at him. He had never been a fan of that sort of disbalance of power, he needed her to understand that he views her as his equal. "I need you to tell me now, if you're not okay with that." Sometimes, as a choreographer, he felt that people were placed into situations that they wouldn't normally feel comfortable with. It's dance, and inherently you understand there will be invasion of personal space. And in a group ensemble number you don't have a lot of control over that. But this being his dance, he had the final say because he's dancing it too, and he wanted to be sure his partner was on board. If she wasn't he would come up with something else.

"Soul," Quiet, green eyes bored into his. "I trust you."

Not sure that he heard her correctly, he stared waiting for her to expand upon the bomb she just dropped. "Blake said that- that there wasn't another person as trustworthy as you, at Dance Resonance. I will follow your vision."

It's more than he felt he deserved, and his heart was already inclined to ignore every precaution he might have had. So, for the next half hour he outlined their choreography and then they set to work.

By midmorning they were both hot and sweaty, the routine and lifts going well- better even, than he could have hoped for. And yet, something about Maka executing each move in technical perfection made Soul feel an intense need to break her of the habit. He didn't want to say her movements were wooden, but something was missing. Knowing she had it in her, wanting to see her come undone in his arms.

He didn't have time to dwell on it because, an hour after that, the film crew showed up, following them around the studio capturing their work in progress. After a moment they took Maka to the side and asked to discuss the show's theme question for the week.

Soul busied himself by stretching, doing his best to not eavesdrop as it would be a violation of her privacy. But, if she was willing to share this with the country-

The make-up specialists finally stopped fussing with Maka, stepping away when Blair entered the room. The tall woman with flamboyant purple hair has been the host of this competition since before Soul ever joined.

"Morning, kitten!" she purred in Soul's direction, waving so as to make her ample bosom tremble. Soul looked away in mortification, especially since he'd caught a disbelieving look from Maka- was that a vein popping from her forehead? But muttered, "Mornin'," anyway, to the studio floor unwilling to be rude.

"Maka-kitten!" Soul wondered again if Blair's only mode of communication was limited to purring. "You've come so far!" And for a moment, Maka was smothered with a very affectionate hug by the buxom host, leaving his present partner sputtering and turning a delicate shade of pink.

"Thanks Blair," she said when she could breathe again, and then the interview began.

"Tell me Maka, who has been your inspiration in all of this?" Blair asked, ocher eyes sparkling.

Maka had clearly prepared for this, just like she'd been studying for her summer courses, and she answered without hesitation. "My biggest inspiration is my mama, who is also a dancer. It's the reason why I chose to start dancing. I look up to her- everything she has accomplished. She's living her dream, still touring in a company where she's been a prima ballerina for several years. Ever since I was little, I knew I wanted to be just like her and follow in her footsteps, she and-" The hesitation in her voice was what made Soul look up, surprised that she was looking at him. Soul offered her a small tentative smile. Green eyes blinked at him until she continued. "My papa, have always been so supportive of me dancing."

Blair took in the information, nodding sagely before commenting. "She sounds- lovely."

Soul's eyes narrowed at the host, there was a slight tremble to her response. One that made him wonder if a mother being away from her only child is a lovely thought at all. However, she continued before Soul could dwell on it further. "Is it true that kitten's papa is the well known choreographer _Spirit_ Albarn?" Soul wasn't sure, but- had she growled?

It felt as if he was watching a tennis match, looking between Maka's startled expression and Blair's expectant eyes. "Yes." The girl conceded after a minute. "He quit, when mama went on tour. So that he could be home for me." Her face had gone a little white. "He made sure I made it to all my practices, but I stopped dancing my junior year in order to focus on school."

"Neow, really?" Blair wondered aloud.

"Yes." She replied, and Soul got the sense that she wasn't super comfortable talking about any of this.

"What made you want to return to it, kitten love?" Blair prodded gently, reaching a perfectly manicured talon to touch Maka's knee with tender compassion. The concerned motherly gesture was at odds with her less than typical motherly appearance.

Maka had that same startled blinking look Soul had become familiar with. "This show. Papa and I started watching the year my god-brother decided he was going to win it." She let out a startled giggle.

Blair blinked, golden eyes widening. "Black Star?!"

"Yes!" Maka laughed outright, and again the sound affected Soul in a way he was ill prepared to deal with.

"That was the year Soul pumpkin competed, too!" The woman was purring, the cameraman whipped in his direction and Soul attempted to smile, but he was sure it was more of a forced grimace.

"It was, yes." Maka agreed, cheeks flaring bright pink again. "Papa kept insisting that I was just as good. He coached me for the past year and I decided if I didn't make it, I'd go back to school."

"Made it, you did." Blair purred, with such a proud smile that one might think Maka was her very own.

"Yes, I did." A small smile played on Maka's lips when she answered.

After this exchange the cameras left. They were given other instructions and told that the crew would return in two days to film Soul's portion. He nodded, mouth going slightly dry but then mercifully they were gone, Soul and Maka left standing with an awkward bubble between them. This wouldn't bode well, if they couldn't actually resonate while dancing. In order to connect with the audience, they have to connect, here, in the studio, and more importantly- on stage.

"Hey," Soul hesitated, sliding to sit crossed-legged in the middle of the floor. "That was intense." He pat the floor in front of him. "Want to talk about about it?"

Maka crossed the room to stand before her choreographer, pausing a moment before folding in on herself to mirror the man as the air came out of her in a sudden whoosh like a deflating balloon. When she also was seated crossed-legged before him, she gave him a quizzical look before asking. "Black Star never said anything?"

Soul shook his head, because when that blue haired idiot wanted to play something close to the vest, no one was finding out, he had crazy ninja skills that way.

She took in a deep breath, looking up at him briefly. "Mama was a young ballerina, Papa was a new hot shot choreographer-" Soul tried his best not to flinch at the tone with which she spoke of her papa's profession. "They got _involved_ , they had me- they were young. Mama was my age-19," she supplied at the upshoot of his eyebrows, then continued. "She'd worked so hard for everything she'd accomplished. Even when I was little she did so much, prioritized her time so she could keep up with dance."

Something wasn't right, her jaw was flexed so hard with tension. Soul sat, listening, wanting to help, but knowing there was nothing he could do.

"Papa couldn't keep his hands off of a few dancers, and eventually she left him- I was fourteen."

What went unsaid, Soul thought, is that she doesn't trust choreographers. What he did say was, "I hear you, that sucks so much." Under-fucking-statement. "Work at channeling that- that thing you're feeling. Use it- really feel it, and let it make you a better storyteller. "

Again, she blinked looking at him as he got up, accepting the hand he offered to her. "I'm sorry your Papa hurt your Mama. Fuck- I can't even imagine how much that hurts-"

"Is that what you do?' She interrupted him. "Channel your feelings into your work?"

It's an honest question, that deserved an honest answer. "Yes."

She stared at him and he held her gaze until she finally looked away.

The rest of the day was spent going over the choreography, memorizing the moves, and practicing some of the lifts and leaps. By the end of the first day of rehearsals they'd gained a few peepers at the doors, murmured squeals, and one loud whoop that could only be one blue haired idiot.

Soul collapsed into his hotel bed physically and emotionally exhausted. Knowing he was so fucked. The dance evolved in his mind, because it fit the scenario so well. Fate and its wicked game, the first girl he'd ever felt something for- hurt because of the games people played in relationships. Coming to the realization he had absolutely no chance whatsoever had been strangely cathartic. Now, he was free to focus solely on the work.

He lay there staring at the ceiling. He'd heard of Spirit, just hadn't connected the dots because the man fell off the face of the dance world almost five years ago to dedicate his time to his daughter- how had he not put that together? How would it be to be with a partner who lived for her craft and her craft alone? Soul doesn't think he could, but he'd never cheat on someone because of that. What an awful situation. He couldn't imagine himself leaving a child behind for that reason, and it stings, because Maka clearly idolizes her mama. What sort of dickhead would cheat on the partner only to devote himself to the child?

The vibrating of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. [[Yo! Keep your nasty bits away from my godsis u white haired fucker]]

Soul rolled his eyes. So now he was claiming to have a god sister. Soul eventually responded with a sarcastic, [[who]] [[I don't know any blue haired monkeys who have godsisters]]

Why had he never mentioned her?

The phone vibrated repeatedly. [[fuk u man]] [[why u so pissy bout it]] [[wait]] [[you interested !]]

Hating the way Black Star could accurately read situations via electronic communication, he responded, [[fuck off]]

The phone threatened to fall apart. [[oooh shit!]] [[this gonna be good]]

Vowing to stop thinking about it, he got up, considered blocking Star's number, showered, and then collapsed into exhausted sleep.

The next day, they were back at it. There was a fire in Maka burning its way out, and by the end of the day the group at the window had grown.

On the third day, Soul taped black paper over the view lites of the doors. They took it from the top and ran the choreography twice before working on a few of the more complicated sequences. They were smoothing out the wrinkles when the camera crew returned, Blair standing off in a corner watching them like a fat cat enjoying a canary. Soul was feeling a deep sense of trepidation, not exactly sure what she was seeing to warrant such a look.

"Soul, tell us about the choreography."

He ran a hand through his stark, white hair as he addressed the camera. "This week the piece is all about how fate plays it's game on us when we meet someone new. Basically, Maka meets this guy and because of her prior experiences she's hesitant and fighting it. Unsure of where they stand in the relationship; they're drawn to each other, and everytime they touch- Maka has this feeling deep in her gut that she has to resist."

Maka was in front of the mirrors practicing her pirouette before ending with a perfect extension, and the camera honed in on her.

They questioned her, and she responded brightly. "There is a lot of pulling, pushing- he's basically throwing me around the room. There's this constant tension between us." The blush had returned, and they both couldn't quite meet each other's eyes. The room felt stifling under the gaze of the camera.

Knowing what was expected of him he continued when the camera focused back to him. "Honestly, I'm nervous, not gonna lie- but, I'm so excited to be working with Maka. She throws herself fearlessly into everything she does- and it lends itself so well to the vision I have for this piece."

The cameraman didn't miss their easy going chemistry as he focused back to Maka.

"In the first couple of minutes- Soul has pulled things out of me," Her voice caught, as she hesitated before finishing. "That I haven't been able to tap into by myself."

Blair asked them to perform again as the camera crew moved in and out discussing how they would choreograph the crews movements for the live performance. The show director, lead cameraman, and Soul held a small conference in the studio while they hashed out the details. Soul drawing out movement on their whiteboard, looking up ever so often to smile at Maka.

A manicured hand wrapped around Maka's shoulder. "He's a good boy, kitten."

The young woman sputtered, at a loss. "Ahh."

"Lonely boy," the purple haired woman explained, looking at the boy in question with such sadness that Maka thought, she must care for him in her own mother-hennish way. "It's nice to see him looking so happy."

Maka did a double take. "Wha- why?"

With a wide grin, Blair touched Maka's nose with a manicured fingernail. "You, silly. Everyone can see."

Maka was blushing furiously, trying to wave off the implication that she has had _anything_ to do with his happiness. Because that would be absurd, but she didn't get the chance.

Having wrapped up with the crew, the director ushered their group out the doors with a flourish. Soul called over Maka to review their schedule; they had to meet with costuming that afternoon and he wanted to discuss it with her. She joined him on the side of the baby grand that sat in the corner of the studio.

The rest of the day was spent in group rehearsals, with only two, two-hour blocks the next day for them to work together and get fitted in their performance attire. They had the following day off. The sixth morning, group dress rehearsal dominated the morning, and they had their dress rehearsal late in the afternoon as they were slated to go last on performance day.

Everything had come together, but the weird energy between them was becoming more intense. If Soul was more hopeful, he would have said it was chemistry, but he had no idea. Couldn't get a read on her emotions, not since day three.

He watched the opening group number from the audience. A fascinating hip hop routine put together by Black Star and Tsubaki, who were holding hands, while the latter rested her free hand over a now noticeably growing bump. Soul looked away feeling intrusive, eyes automatically focusing on Maka who was lighting up the stage.

The rest of the show went as planned, the crowd cheering for their favorites. Soul ducked out halfway through to warm up. Opening one of the practice rooms he thought was empty he ran into her. "Oh shit." He cursed, by way of apology. Trying not to linger on how perfect she looked in the flowing gossamer gown that was shining silver in the light of the street lamps streaming in through the windows. "I thought it was empty- I can go."

Maka shook her head. Her hair was held up on the sides, her bangs loose, and it trembled with her movement. "It's okay, just trying to work out some nerves. I can leave if you want to warm up alone."

He didn't want to, not really. "No. Stay." The sound low, soft, and just louder than a whisper.

She hmm-ed her assent. "Is there anything you need me to focus on, Soul?" She asked, just as quietly.

He came in close with a confidence he didn't really feel. Knowing he was invading her space, but not planning on staying long, he shook his head slowly, and whispered. "No, just- just let yourself go, Maka. You said you trust me. I- I want you to trust yourself." That was all, he stepped away to the sound of a small gasping intake of breath.

If her laughter made his body feel funny, that sound had his back going ramrod straight. He found he was also trying to catch his breath, unsure of why or how she had this effect on him.

Warm ups went well, Soul's body tingling from the proximity to his partner, desperately trying to reign this fucking shit in. All too soon the assistant stage manager called them to the wings to wait as the penultimate couple finished their routine.

During the commercial break, their music and lighting was queued up while they got set on their marks. Standing on a dark stage he watched her, backlit by the house lights which were low while their earlier taped segment was played for the audience. Emotional music was the backdrop to Maka's interview as she told her story for the audience, who was clearly loving what they saw with sighs and awwhs- then the wolf whistling started. Soul groaning to himself because he could hear his own voice.

The only indication it was about to start was the cut-off of their audio segment. The house lights went dark, the first notes of the acoustic guitar filling the air as the stage lights came up, illuminating Maka who, in character, was taking deep breaths as he walked up to her, slowly.

He leans into her, drawn is as if by gravity, nose grazing her neck, and her scent overwhelmed him as he palmed across her collarbones. He was shaking from the exertion of holding himself back, knowing it was a performance, but struggling because of how real it was for him. Only she existed in his world, everything else fading to black as they moved across the stage. Pushing, pulling, giving and taking.

Soul was acutely aware of the way her body moved. When he had to run his hands up her body, she couldn't meet his eyes. Maka, beautiful- in character, her face haunting with the emotions she was acting for the audience. Soul thought about the way her eyes had looked away as he palmed her face, knowing he could delude himself if he wanted to. It wasn't real.

Lifting her, moving with her was a new form of torture that was going to ruin him. A touch of their noses- and what was that sound she made? So similar to that gasp she had given him before, in the practice room. Could it mean- it wasn't as if the audience could hear it.

They broke apart, he with a solo pirouette, while she moved across the floor before him. Then he crouched down on all fours, crawling to her like a man broken by fate. Their bodies met with more force than he intended as she arched into him. Her strong heartbeat pulsed for a full count under his ear until he gripped her body, rolling her over him to switch their positions. He lifted her in two different series that culminated in her forcibly removing herself from his arms. He watched her stride across the stage, and he was surprised because he realized it physically hurt. He'd never let his emotions get away from him like this.

There was no time to think about it because he was running after her with a stuttered triplet. He caught her as she kicked up, dropping into his arms. He pushed and pulled her, separating only for her to take a leap, spinning in the air as he caught her again.

They kept moving as one, Maka hitching a leg onto his shoulder as he bounced her up, only to have her swan dive backwards gracefully. Soul set her back on the ground gently, both of them moving to do synchronized pirouettes.

They worked up to the climax of the piece, Maka finally, finally letting go, exploding from a prone position on the ground to sail through the air into his arms.

It ended with him hovering above her, both of their chests heaving. Her hand trembling where she held his face, their noses touching. His blood pumping fire through his system. Nothing existing in the moment but the two of them.

Were he a lesser man, he might have closed the distance, but he didn't. Desired it- fuck, he desired it so much. But would never disrespect her in such a way. Had he told her that the dance included a kiss, he knows she would have followed through, but to use his position of power in such a way- knowing other choreographers had done so- it was never part of his plan.

Soul knows if it had it been- she would have followed through, and it would have hurt worse than all of this combined. No, it was better that he had resisted.

There was a cacophony of whooping, applause, and- a standing ovation from the three judges.

Very carefully, he removed himself from his position, the house lights coming on full blast. And Maka was illuminated in her prone position, her eyes screwed shut, and her chest heaving from the exertion of what they had just done. He tapped her shoulder gently, offering her a hand, a little surprised to see so much pain on her face. Especially when he couldn't have felt more proud of her, and everything she had accomplished. Her eyes fluttering rapidly and the moment was gone, but the suspended tears remained.

His heart was going a million miles an hour. That had gone over more amazing- incredible even- than he ever could've anticipated. The crowd was a hollow noise in his head. The judges lavished praise and attention on Maka, and deservedly so. He spoke when spoken to, but was only aware of his arm draped around her shoulder gripping her tightly in sheer pride of her accomplishment.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. It was hard to believe that their week was over. If he wasn't the same after meeting her that first day, he was fucking beyond the event horizon now. The feelings- his face twisted into a sardonic smile. He'd told her to channel those feelings into her work, was he going to take his own advice? Right now, apathy was the only armour he wanted to protect himself with- until his phone started vibrating.

[[fuck bro! You got it so bad!]] from Black Star, to which he just scowled.

When it started ringing he finally answered with an exasperated, "The fuck you want, Star?!"

The line was silent until Wes's voice filled the void. "I take it he's already riding you hard?"

"What?" He's flabbergasted, why the fuck was everyone so invested in his lack of love life.

"Amazing work as always, little brother," Wes said, quietly.

"What do you want, Wes," he growled, no question.

"I just watched, it was- incredible. Can't a big brother feel pride for his brothers accomplishments?" he chided.

Biting his lip with his overly sharp teeth, Soul worried at the skin, trying to judge where Wes was going with this, before muttering, "Thanks."

"Look, I know you'd never ask me for an opinion, but if that look on your face during your performance is any indication- you should talk to her Soul. Bend the rules this once, or wait until the season ends-"

"Stay out of it Wes." he said, cutting off his brother. What look? He was doing his best, for her.

The phone buzzed while he was thinking. "Hey, I'll let you go. Man, you thought you were sought after before, now that people know you can feel things for others- get ready." Abruptly the line went dead. He didn't have the patience to deal with Wes's cryptic bullshit.

The vibration went off indicating another notification from Blake. Basically the performance captured by a series of Snapchats and Blake's unsolicited opinions.

Soul groaned into his pillows, attempting to figure out how long it would take until this thing blew over.

…

It has been four weeks. Soul's face rests on his desk, cushioned by at least a week's worth of facial-hair growth. Blake's maniacal laughter fills most of his free time. The show wrapped last week and he still hasn't been able to talk to her. She won, to no one's surprise. Well deserved.

Soul's only regret- and he can't even call it that- is that he wishes desperately he could've been less open about his feelings. Wes, unfortunately, had been right. If the social anxiety keep him at home crippled by the shame of his feelings broadcast on full display- for the whole world to see- Shit! That's probably why he hasn't heard from her- he'd probably embarrassed her!

He's an idiot for pouring his soul out so blatantly for anyone with access to live television, YouTube, or internet memes. So, he's here now, stuck in his office chair. On his computer screen a notification blinks, a video from Blake.

This can't be good. He clicks on it anyway. It's a video of Maka- oh shit, it's her interview. He hadn't taped the segment, or the dance for that matter. Didn't think he could stomach watching it. That's a lie, he wants to see her- but is so afraid of what might be written all over his dumbstruck mug.

Deathdamnit, she's beautiful. And he's captivated. Halfway through her interview a man with vibrant hair is featured. He recognizes Spirit. Watches as her father expresses how incredibly proud he is of Maka, the fact that being 'proud' doesn't encompass all the feelings he has about it. There are video clips of a young Maka dancing, Spirit saying that seeing her on this journey, and not just on the show, but since she was little, growing up...he knows she was born to do this, knows that she will do this for the rest of her life.

He's got zero chance, why the fuck would Blake send this to him? Hadn't he already realized this before they even danced?

The dance begins and he can't look away, this already haunts his dreams- doesn't mean for it to but he just can't get her out of his mind. This though, seeing her face and her every emotion playing out- was it all acting? It had to be.

As the dance ends the camera pans to family and friends in the audience. He thinks he's finally going to see what her inspiration looks like, but she's not there. Only Spirit, who is openly weeping.

A forceful vibration startles him out of his thoughts.

[[Yo, did you see it?]] [[Thought u was the only one!]] [[but naw bro]]

Soul stares at his phone, attempting to glean some sort of meaning. The hell is he talking about? Couldn't he just drop it already? [[fuck off already]]

He goes back to his face on his desk. Eventually the keys of his keyboard will be permanently pressed into his face, disfiguring him like some warped sort of waffle and this whole thing will blow over.

[[naw, no can do brophelia]] Long since used to Black Star's weirdness about marrying the word bro with anything and everything, up to and including clues to his deranged madness, he just scratches his head. Ophelia is a new one. Another vibration, [[probably fucked this 1 up big, but u kno go big or go home!]]

Goddamnit, when Blake decided to meddle in shit there was no knowing what could happen. And when the phone begins ringing he loses his shit.

"Fuck off Black Star and quit meddling in my goddamned non-existent love life, you fuck!" The phone vibrates in his hand. Can he really be so annoying as to text while calling? The message reads [[sorry, gave her your number man]] Oh sweet Moses, his blood goes cold in his veins when a soft voice says his name.

"Soul?" He is fucked proper. "Um, it's Maka."

His throat is dry, and his jaw flaps uselessly, alarm bells blazing through his head.

"I- I got your number from Blake." She continues, after correctly interpreting the wheezing as him being unable to speak human language. "Actually, I've been trying to get your number for some time, but he's refused to give it to me, until today."

FUCK-whaaa?! Why would he even keep something like that to himself? Soul deciding that he can finally say something tries to ask 'why?' but his voice cracks, like he's a prepubescent kid. He wants to die of embarrassment but she surprises him.

"I really want to talk to you, in person that is. Could we- could you meet me at Deathbucks?" Her voice sounds like it's quavering. "I understand if, if you don't want to. But I was really hoping to ask you something."

She wants to meet him? She's been trying to get his number? Why? The only way he's going to get any of his questions answered is if he agrees to meet her. "Yeah, that's fine. Did you have a location in mind?" He asks, voice gruff from the emotional rollercoaster he is on.

After deciding on the one located, surprisingly, a block from his place, they hang up.

He decides to shave and actually look presentable, donning some band-T and the only clean pair of pants he has left, fucking skinny jeans. Well it's either that or sweat pants. Annoyed that he basically resembles the hipster movement, he stuffs his unruly hair into a gray beanie. Then for the next hour his leg bounces aimlessly, the movement vibrating his teeth. He has muted Black Star; he figures he'll talk with his friend after.

At about a quarter after, he walks into the coffee shop and orders a tall Americano with whatever seasonal flavors they're offering. It's something to keep his hands occupied, because if not, he's going to drum his fingers away. His fidgeting stops when she walks in.

Soul recognizes the worn sweatshirt, the skirt and leggings are new, but the combat boots remain. After she collects her order she turns and spying him, near the back at one of the more secluded tables, she smiles as she makes her way over to him.

"Hi." She says, breathless as she slides into a chair across from him. "I get it now, why you wear your beanie everywhere."

"Yeah?" He asks, eyebrows quirked. His face feels like it's twisted in a goofy smile, he can't help, she has this effect on him. That weird energy he felt between them at rehearsals is back.

"Mhm." This time the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Soul…"

The way she says his name has him in panic mode. It's like he's five again, and mother found out he broke her wedding goblet because he was curious and the old hutch had a sticky latch and when he went to replace the crystal, it smashed.

"Did you mean it?" she asks, catching him off guard, but she continues, saving him the trouble of talking. However, now he's just trying to keep up with her train of thought as she talks really fast. "About channeling your feelings into your work? You looked so honest when you said yes, and I totally believed you. But here's the thing, I think- like a lot- about everything. And I just can't get your words out of my mind. Especially not after watching the performance, and oh Death, what I said in the interview- because it was true. But because of Papa-" She pauses to wail and it sounds like the call of the velociraptors in the Jurassic Movies. But before he can continue forming thoughts of her slicing his belly open (with the feelings) she's already moving on. "I mean, that's part of the reason why Blake completely refused to give me your number."

"Because of your papa?" Soul finally asks when she takes a breath.

Her cheeks are turning a vivid pink highlighting the freckles he's only briefly interacted with, and he finds it distracting.

Maka sits for a moment, defiance in her eyes as she holds his gaze. "Yes."

And now, Soul is left feeling like he has to put the pieces together. Blake refusing to give Maka his number, her papa, her questioning his integrity basically, what she said in the interview- wait which part? Brophelia?

"Brophelia?" Maka's question cuts through his mental shit. He really said that out loud!

"Um-yeah. It's what Blake texted me before you called." He says.

"And he's read it?" She asks, eyebrows shooting behind her fringe.

"Probably just the Cliffs Notes." Soul can't help the laugh.

Maka is still mulling it over. "Have you read it?"

"Only the Cliffs Notes." He answers. It's been a while, but then it hits him, Ophelia's brother or someone had protected her because they felt Hamlet wasn't earnest about his feelings for her- wait?! "Okay, so was Star trying to protect you or me?" He asks without thinking. Pretty sure he's committed word vomit, because if she does answer- could that even mean she also has some feelings for him?

"You." She says quietly as she destroys a napkin. When she looks up, meeting his questioning gaze, she continues. "Blake says that you're a one person kind of guy. He wouldn't give me your number. He knows I don't trust choreographers because of Papa. Said it would really hurt you if I wasn't serious- I guess something about our dance convinced him, but only until after the show wrapped, because he's ultra serious about the rules now. What a hypocrite." And the color rushes out of her face. "I mean- oh death that came out so strange- I, please forget about this if you don't feel-"

Like hell he's going to forget about it, it's all he's been thinking about. "Maka." He says just to stop her train of thought from derailing. Because, fuck damnit he hadn't considered the table being between them turning into such a cock block, fuck- not that he thought of it that way, shit! Now he's the one over thinking. "I'm pretty sure everyone knows how I feel."

Her face lights up at that and they spend the next few hours talking, which then turns into dinner at a hole in the wall sushi place a few blocks down the way. It's way past dark when they realize they should probably head home. Not one to want to let her walk alone, although Soul figures she can take care of herself, he offers to walk with her. They're both so engrossed with the conversation that it isn't until he's at her door that he's now looking around in disbelief. It's his building.

In fact, since he usually comes up the opposite stairwell, he hasn't ever walked this way because his place is the opposite flat caddy corner to this one. She laughs about it when he tells her- how had they not realized?

He's caught off guard by her offer to come in. And fuck if he's not tempted, but it's late, and he's not sure why he's holding back. Instead he steps in close and hugs her tightly to him, the familiar proximity, her scent- he's having a hard time listening to why he shouldn't follow her in, but her admission of having feelings for him wasn't exactly an invitation to suck face- as much as he'd be down.

They pull apart, foreheads resting on one another, the tension high, it's now or he's going to do something stupid, so he says. "I had a really, really great evening with you, Maka. And- if you wanted- I'd like to do it again sometime." His eyebrows furrow as he tries not to think of the double entendre he just made. "I know a place we could go to for lunch- they have great curry."

He tries not be hyper aware of the way her hands are playing at the band of his jeans, he figures he has less than seconds to get out before he embarrasses himself because he's already growing at an awkward angle.

Mercifully she releases him, with a breathy "yeah, okay, that sounds good."

"Okay." He says, and before he can second guess himself he touches his lips lightly to her cheek. "I'll text you about noon." He turns to walk away but her hands keep him in place.

Green, green eyes burn him alive. "Soul-" She looks down briefly before meeting his eyes, that blush coloring her cheeks again. "You could stay, here, if you wanted?"

This is turning over in his head when she starts talking again. "I don't ever do this. I wouldn't ask if- I wasn't serious." Her honesty and vulnerability have his heart in his throat, and he can hear the lyrics to the song he chose.

A tentative hand reaches up to her cheek, thumb rubbing the satin smooth skin there. "Can I kiss you?" he whispers.

For an answer, she reaches small hands to fist the hair at the back of his head and closes the distance between them. Warm lips meet his, the explosive energy between them growing, as the kiss deepens at a rapid pace. Clearly both have been holding back so much.

Familiar with their body space, he picks her up and she instinctively wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her into her apartment. She shuts the door behind them, and she tosses his beanie on her kitchen countertop for good measure.

Goddamn if this is why people are always going on about kissing, Soul's definitely on board now. Barring a failed middle school kiss with longtime family friend Jackie, he had held no interest for this. One of the reasons why he'd been so blown away by his reaction to the woman in his arms. If this was all she wanted to do, he'd be cool with it.

Given the way they're moving now, this won't be the only thing they do.

Soul has only one misgiving. What if he's not good? He knows where he's at on this spectrum, and decides not to assume anything about Maka. Figures that if they plan on crossing that line- this evening or ever- she'll say something, maybe.

He loses all focus due to the things she's doing to his neck, he wants to reciprocate but at the moment he's more or less concentrated on her body in his hands, memories of her moving underneath him making the situation in his pants all the more strained until Maka grits out, "couch" and "sit."

He is but her willing student. This proves to be a great idea as he can now explore, running his tongue up and down the smooth line of her neck, as she grinds on his now very painfully obvious erection that throbs when she lets out that sound he heard during their performance.

His nerves are so raw, he'd be afraid he was going to embarrass himself, only he's sure that because of the many nights he's been- well ah, _fuck,_ Maka!

She stills in his lap, and he's wondering if he's done something wrong. She's looking at him and the vulnerability is back. "I want to," she says, furious blush backlighting her freckles again. And he realizes he needs to get a grip on what words escape his headspace without his permission. "I mean, I've only done it once- it was in highschool and-" Her hands come up to hide her face. "I never wanted to again- but then we danced and it's all I can think about, but I could be terrible…" And then she's calling out to her ancestral prehistoric kin.

He's biting back the chuckle that's threatening to escape, only because she's so cute and sexy all at the same time while she's flustered. "Naw, I don't believe you," he says, chortling.

Her eyes snap at him- when the hell had she picked up that book?! His arms fly over his head, "No wait! Hear me out." He's only got seconds he thinks, before he's brained. "Fuck- Maka, you're amazing at everything you do. I mean-" And he's backed himself into his own corner. The book is steady for the moment, she's waiting, so he continues. "I- fuck you're an amazing dancer, and besides you've got to be better than a virgin." No sooner than it's out of his mouth, he's brained. "Fuck! What was that for?"

"For you, being so unkind to whichever ever poor virgin you were referring to!" she says indignantly, still sitting atop his lap. Fortunately for Soul, at least the chop has taken care of his erection, for now.

"Meant myself, woman." He groans, resting his head on the back of the couch. His hands are toying with the waistband of her short skirt. It's making him feel slightly better about the vulnerable position he's in now, sure that she's rethinking doing this with a complete noob.

"You meant yourself?" Her question is above a slight whisper, and she keels over onto the couch, burying her face in the cushions. "Oh my death, Soul, I'm so sorry for assuming. I just thought, ohmigod, no way."

He's laughing now, only because he's trying not to die on the inside, and because it's a little bit funny. "Eh, maybe sometimes it's easier as a guy. People assume the worst and if you let them run away with their own ideas, they leave you alone."

She resurfaces, face bright but determined. "Yeah?" Maka asks, and he shrugs. Her face splits into a mischievous grin. "Well...given you're also a talented dancer-" They both might be thinking of the thing he choreographed, and the fire is back on. "I'm sure you're going to be awesome."

"Oh yeah?" He quirks his eyebrows, internally very at ease with their rather intimate discussion, so he rolls his hips. And is forcibly reminded of a very uncomfortable conversation with Black Star.

His long time friend had been about to give Soul the low down on his new relationship status with Tsubaki. Seriously, the girl was so quiet and timid, Soul was sure nothing was going on. When he said as much, Blake puffed up. Soul, realizing his mistake with the inadvertent challenge, stuffed his fingers in his ears, yelling that he didn't need to know. He only took his fingers out of his ears when Blake, hands on his hips like some upset house mom with a wooden ladle, gave him the 'seriously?' look. Only to have the great Black Star say, "Bro bro brah, dancing is the vertical expression of a horizontal desire legalized by music!" Complete with some wholly unnecessary hip thrusts.

And, it clicks. That, and along with all the cringe inducing sex education Wes has felt necessary to impart to his younger brother through the years, paying no mind to all the pretext Soul gave that he wasn't sexually active and wasn't looking to be. No-no, Wes had insisted, because 'in case he changed his mind' he was going to make sure his baby brother was ready.

Maka's bright giggles bring him back to the present. "Yeah," she says, and suddenly he's very thankful for all those awkward as fuck conversations. Red eyes staring into green, and then his mouth is back on hers. Catching her by surprise, his tongue is curious, and she meets his just as eagerly.

She pulls back and he's about to protest, when he recognizes her crossed arms. Like Pavlov's dog he know's what's next. In a move so practiced, it's as fluid as the rest of her dancing, the ratty old sweatshirt is up and over her head, revealing a scoop necked body suit and pert hard nipples, and he practically whimpers only because his pants have become painfully restrictive once again. Goddamned skinny jeans, had he known what the afternoon was going to bring he would've worn sweats.

He can't help that he's staring, and he's trying so hard not to drool because he wants to mark up that swan-white neck of hers. Thinks he's died when she takes his hands and holds them to her chest, giving him an intense look. When he rolls a nipple he's rewarded with a gasp, and her own hip grind nearly has him coming undone. She's going to be the death of him, and he's pretty sure he's okay with it.

She gets up, pulling him with her, and the relief is sudden. Taking his hand, she leads him to the bedroom off the living area, mirror image to his floorplan. Her room is comprised of a small full sized bed, with a desk next to that, a small lamp - the only source of light - plus the soft glow of the street lights coming in from the windows. Fuck, it reminds him of when he told her to let herself go, the implications of that statement here and now, he's going to be the one who goes out of control.

Her hands are at the hem of his shirt, and after a moment she brings up the fabric and he helps her along, shucking The Cranberries over his head with a self satisfied grin as she gasps. Will he ever be used to that sound? He shivers as she runs her hands over his torso, up to his shoulders and down his ridiculous tattoo. Unwilling to be a spectator, he contents himself with outlining her curves, but she steps away. "Pants." All command.

He refuses to let her look away as he steps back to undo the accursed garment. Having the sense to kick off the shoes first before attempting to slide the damned pants off his legs, he straightens, only to have his boxers tent rather comically, erection finally free of the confines.

Maka's face hasn't lost the furious blush, and he's so entranced. Drawn to her, wrapping his hands around her waist, resting his hands lightly on her ass, asking if it's okay, feeling like he's swelling bigger when she _mhm_ s into his throat. The way she's swaying her hips from side to side over his boxers has him nearly seeing stars. "I'm thinking you're overdressed," he finally whispers if only to get some respite, and he gets a sharp nip to his neck for his efforts.

"Yeah, you're right," she grumbles, stepping away to her closet. She bends to undo the straps of her boots and places them neatly in her closet. Next, she bends again, pulling down the tights, and Soul has to tuck his erection into his waistband, because fuck, did she have to remove her clothes like that?!

When she stands, she's holding the first counts of his piece, he knows it, knows it like the melody that's been playing in his head since he's met her. He takes the few steps to stand behind her as he runs his nose along the curvature of her neck, his hand sliding across her collarbones. She turns and he catches her mouth with his, picking her up and carrying her to her bed where he plans to worship her.

She watches him as he runs his hands up her body, skirt coming up as he continues up to cup her jaw, kissing her while his hands undo the skirt. She lifts her hips and he slides the fabric off her body. He watches the rise and fall of her chest entranced, almost as if rehearsals had been to prepare him for this moment with her.

They watch one another, content in the moment, but he needs more, something like basic instinct driving him, he has this desire to taste her. Her scent, so alluring when he'd slid the skirt off her body, he wants so much. His fingers toy on the shoulder straps of her body suit. "May I?" he asks, chuckling when she rolls her eyes trying not to smile when she grumbles about him being so polite. Soul has other plans and doesn't waste time being too upset about her teasing admonishment.

When he comes away with the garment in his hand, she lies bare before him, and he has to say it's better than any fucking Christmas morning he's ever had. Any moment now, his alarm is going to blare and he's going to have one motherfucker of a Groundhog Day moment. But, logically speaking, there is no way his imagination could have come up with this perfection. He decides that the best way to pinch himself awake is to map out her entire body with his tongue and teeth.

Tucking himself next to her he kisses her mouth again, relishing in her hands gripping his body, and fuck when she palms him it's his turn to groan out her name into her neck. Returning his attention back to her soft lips and all of her soft skin he desires to explore with his mouth. Nipping and sucking at her nipples has Maka burying her hands in his hair, and holy shit- how was he unaware that his hair getting pulled like that could feel so good?

That will have to wait, because he has other needs. He brings up her legs over his shoulders, the question is on his lips but before he can say anything she cuts him off. "Soul, I swear to death, if you ask again, I'll chop you." He does not need to be told twice, and he brings his mouth down to her slit, his tongue sliding over the silky, wet skin. He's pretty sure he's found his new favorite place to kiss on her body, among so many other favorites. His hands wrap around her legs, because this way he can give her hips more pressure, as he's intrigued with the way she rocks them into his mouth. He becomes more daring with his tongue and suddenly she's arching back when he licks an interesting bundle.

He likes how she's moving, how she breathlessly keens, "fuck me." when he stops what he was doing. She props herself on her elbows, pouting as she meet his gaze. When he has her attention he grins as he takes his middle finger in his mouth, watching her eyes trace his movements with satisfaction as he presses that finger inside her, going slow because he's unsure. When she arches back and rolling her hips into his knuckles, he knows he's onto something. He hates Wes for all his insider knowledge- but fuck if it helps him not be terrible, he's going to use the knowledge he's gained.

He decides he might lose it if she keeps saying his name like that, while grinding on his hand like that. He adds another finger to the sound of another one of those amazing gasps. Moving to the rhythm she's set, steady in his beat, watching as her hands fist in her duvet. "Maka," he whispers, green eyes find his, he wants to see her come undone; carefully he works his way closer to her, hands still working her center, her leg hitched over his waist now, he beckons her closer. Their mouths meeting again and he feels her fluttering around his fingers, he's laving his tongue on her neck again, biting, but he remembers he wants to see and once more their foreheads are touching, green eyes meeting red. With an intake of breath she goes still, then she's shaking in his arms, her eyes fluttering shut with his name on her lips.

He lays there curled into her neck for a moment, savoring the feeling of her clenching and releasing his fingers. And for a second he thinks he's slicked the hunger, that energy between them, until he opens his eyes to the green storm before him.

Maka disentangles herself from him, resuming her position over his lap as she had been earlier, kissing his mouth, and taking his bottom lip between her teeth. His erection feels almost painful beneath her hot, wet folds as his boxers become saturated.

Maka tugs on his boxers and it's his turn to lift his hips as her intention to remove his pants becomes clear. When the material is gone Maka reaches over him, to her desk. He takes this time to lace her ribs with kisses looking up to see a foil packet in her hands, and he feels a little embarrassed that he'd spaced that.

Misunderstanding the look on his face, Maka colors bright pink again. "It's- I'm not on birth control," she says quickly. "I hadn't thought about it, but because I knew I wanted- I, uh, wanted to be prepared-"

And now he's the one blushing. "Maka, fuck, why are you so cool?" And she might be giggling at him, but he doesn't care. "I- I would have brought one-" (read: like maybe more) "-if I'd thought- no, known. " He's groaning from the embarrassment. "Like, no- I'm not that guy."

Her giggles are doing amazing things to him, the way she's pressed bare against his side. "What guy would that be, Soul?"

"That dude-bro who automatically thinks he's going to get some." His arm is hiding his face, until she removes it, looking at him with that open soul.

"I know." She says it simply, trusting, and hands him the foil packet. "Or, I can?"

He's sitting on the edge of her bed, grinning at this girl who is full of amazing surprises, taking the proffered packet. "It's okay, I can. Can't let all those phys ed classes of rolling these things on bananas go to waste, can we?" And they're both laughing, as he carefully tears the packet open. Surgeon's precision.

Seriously, it wasn't phys ed, it was Wes: And be sure you roll it on the right way because if you fuck it up you'd better start with a clean one! On an on, about how many live sperm could be in precum had given Soul plenty of nightmares as a teenaged boy. He pinched out the excess air only to look up at Maka's slightly frozen expression. "Did I do it wrong?"

She only shakes her head. And he's feeling very vulnerable, trying to quell the unnecessary fear, when he hears her whisper. "Big."

"Big, as in the other g-" Her head, shaking back and forth vigorously cuts off his question, he can't help his self satisfied grin. Watching in amazement as she crawls back onto his lap, even as a noob he likes this. Because, from here he can see the emotions playing out on her face, easy access to kissing those rose-backlit freckles, her lips and neck. Besides, in this position, she can better control what she's doing; he's not just here for the ride, but he's taking it one step at a time. Completely at ease with her taking the reigns, he feels his tip slide to her entrance, and he gasps before she can stop him. "You're sure?"

Their foreheads are back to touching, she's nodding yes against him, and holy hell maybe it was a bad idea to be looking into her eyes as she pushes down onto him because he nearly blows it then and there. The intensity of being with her, in that way- fuck, no wonder- he nips that thought, for the moment, biting down hard on his lip.

He can die happy now, as Maka settles herself completely in his lap with hissing exhale. This is good, Soul thinks, it gives him time to warm to the idea that he's completely enveloped in her, his hands gripping her hips for dear life, her hands fisted tightly in his hair, their foreheads rocking against one another. It feels-so good.

Her warm mouth on his has him seeing stars because, as before, it breaks the floodgates, their tongues moving together and fuck fuck fuck when her hips start rocking on his, it's all he can do not to match her. He grins against her mouth; this is exactly like dancing, and with a sigh more akin to a growl, he rolls his hips against hers, eliciting a delicious sound. He remembers her neck so close to his mouth and the things that makes her do, the gasps, his hands moving with her rolling hips. Fuck. Maka, fuck this is better than he could imagine, better than the dreams, better than what he had choreographed. This. This was what he was trying to capture, and he's glad, in part, that he couldn't because one, live TV, and two, there was no way in hell he was sharing this with the world.

Leaning forward, making her arch back so he could lav attention to her collarbones and her perfect breasts, his body shudders. He isn't long for this world, and when she starts lifting up and coming down he knows he's a goner. He's losing vital functions as she kisses his neck, growling out, "Maka," when she bites his earlobe. Something is building, and he doesn't think he can hold it back, if the way she's moving with him is any indication, and he hopes it is, she's with him and he wants to see. He's holding her body like she's his lifeline, and her hands fisted once again in his hair are his tether.

In dance, you have to look at your partner to be able to synchronize your movements, and Soul finds that with love, the concept is very much the same. He's lost in the forest green of her soul, his breath matching hers, and, holy fuck, he doesn't know what's happening because he's never orgasmed like this ever. An intake of breath, maybe time stopped but then they're falling, his body, her body, their body- shuddering until they collapse in a heap on her bed. They're both a mess of giggles and low laughter.

"Fuck me, that was so awesome," he says, out of breath and holding her tightly. Planning on letting go, never.

She's pecking kisses at his face. "Told you so," she giggles.

Maybe it's because of the dancing, he thinks, but maybe it's more because of what connects his soul to hers.

…


End file.
